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zebra Apr 2017
i always imagine you so very graceful
through the masochists ordeal
a god form of supplication

seeing your face
in love
fascinated by shimmering kisses
that hurt, yet please
wet lips and sharp teeth  
glamors that excite

cold blade licks dragged across
tender bellies
naval
buttocks
and flexed toes
stinging
then radiating outwards

wounds become lilies
mouth *******
tremulous weeping kisses
ecstatic cruelties
blood glitter sacrifice

your supplication
love pangs

i'm shaking apart over you
your countenance
a cascading dream
moved to tears of adoration
your  limitless
yielding
like surrenders caress
an infinite communion
with fragile limbs
silky wrapped spools
innerness of desire veiled in a shroud
a faltering star that glistens crimson
nymph of purgation
ash volcanic
cells en-flamed with tongues that bite
subsumed in scented vapors
a confection of **** and ***
waves embrace ineffable shores
passed the discontinuity of life  

I have the most immense feeling of love for you
am i not
the saint death  
quietly following you
through life's labyrinth
innocuous  
waiting humbly in the wings

i am all ache for you
a vice of kisses
a brief encounter
that eats your sight and senses
ushering you to immortal freedom
a swooning garland of fire that enlivens
the body electric
a mist of molecules

your tears intoxicate
i am new life with in you
budding embryo
that consumes its mother for nourishment
and saturates like dew drops  
as it echoes through oblivion
My poems remain explorations of the subconscious ******
If i where a film maker or a novelist  you  would see me telling a story, and yes  i admit to my paraphilias.
These poems  are lunar anamorphic streams of consciousness from the deep chaotic subterranean glitz of transgressive  impulses we all share
Read them if you dare...You might find that part of yourself that you don't want you to know about and then again  you may feel more complete some how if you do....I always loved that dark thing that sleeps with in me
Elias Apr 2018
A meal in the morning is made to sustain till noon.
A meal at noon keeps dinner in tune.
The schedule is precise with each meal separated,
By the ticks and tocks of a internal clock.

Yet here the feast has begun.
Too soon for lunch, too late for breakfast, yet just in time to spoil the dinner,
Just as the apple spoiled the dawn of man.

And here my feast has begun.
My insatiable heart, attacks my mind,
Images of what is and what could be make me blind.
The prospect of another taste, spoiling the old bond.
The place where a feast had been done.

The budding plates wisked into my thoughts,
I remind myself,
She's the only one.
Eno Sep 2018
Jealousy rises up in me
Like **** to the surface
I try to read a book
But each word fades into the page
Hiding from my fantastical rage
I see no option
But to give up my love.
King Panda Jan 2017
once there was an astrologer
who said
I predict universal pangs but
no big bangs

but you can be
my keeper
this afternoon
written in the stars
a kick here
a punch there
a hug on the bridge
are you being ****
or are you having
a stroke?

guts like a hawk
pure chutzpah and
peanut butter
cookies
a karma pig or
comma
depending which way
you look
me
half dog
you
half god
dess
Nostradamus
pinching our lungs together
a ******* frisee
a passion flower
euphoria
a wave of space
surrounding
the sun
a big middle
finger
a glisten and the
midday present
as you
squint
and I try to catch a little
piece
Marina Kay Oct 2018
I've heard that distance makes the heart grow fonder;
but somehow it seems to me,
melancholy is the mislaid piece,
for the pangs in my chest
have only grown stronger.

We're 3000 miles apart,
on separate time zones and continents,
your absence from my eyes
captivates my consciousness.

Replaying our memories
in an infinite loop,
my mind plays its tricks
to remind me of you.

As if I could forget
that spellbinding time we spent,
on the days and nights
right after we met.
Missing Jordan.
Cné Dec 2017
~
O Painter
with thy own eye
                        would thee
paint me in mine own natural hue
prithee paint me as i am,
imperfections
            and blemishes true

Load thy brush
                      with colors sundry
to maketh yond first pure sweep
across the ****** frieze,
fill'd with pangs of hunger.
paint me as i standeth
                  bethought, in deep

With mine own love and mine own desire,
blurring the edges unclean
with mine own regrets
                  and mine own mental gyre,
in mine own natural age,
               of deep forest green

O Painter
Paint me sinister turquoise,
in lavender and maroon,
combine the amethyst and amber
blend the iceberg
       and the indigo moon.

Paint me as i standeth,
       prithee see with thy eye
a mistress in yond lady plight
Prithee paint me all i am
i cullionly
a mistress in all yond lady might

Paint me in the optimistic
                             silv'r of dawn,
but don’t miss the purple
to shade the bruise
                              of the bygone.
paint me in the sky blue journal

O Painter
Paint me as a unique template
smudge black white and grizzled
merging all the colors of thy palette.
col'r me a rainbow
                            in a rainy drizzle

Paint me tall so yond i standeth
loftier than any mountain
Paint me as a dram bird, delicate
with soft feathers silken

Paint me harmony, as a violin
so yond i can sing thy solitary tune
paint me as thy poetry
         with song and melody
wrapp'd in a cocoon

O Painter
paint me as a dream yond rises
                               in did saturate colors
with a steady upbeat flight awry
tint, a fluttering
             of a quite quaint butterfly

Portray me with endurance
imbue so bold and bright
doth not hesitate
                to depict mine own mind
in profound fuchsia and white.

Useth the colors yond thee would borrow
Thy palette not yet exsufflicate
Paint mine own loss and mine own sorrow
in search of a shade so ******

Adorn mine own heart in glowing garnet
at which hour thee paint mine own love
add a true broken blue shade
of the cloud and the rain above;

Study mine own dry sorrow
                              in mine own soul
useth any shade thee plaited
soften the edges of control
in a tinge of xanthene.

O Painter
Prithee paint me
Mine own passion and mine own spirit
shall has't a crimson r'd hint
mine own remorse and mine own regret
shall reflect an ink stain print

Paint me in mine own eye so true
O Painter
but add a dash of courage too

~
When I paint, I’m never quite satisfied as I see all my mistakes, blemishes and colors not quite right. I tend to keep painting to try and get it all right. At some point, I arrive with the conclusion, if I keep going I’m going to mess it up. I stand across the room and, it’s then that I’m amazed at what I have created. I like to think that I’m seen in the same way by my creator.
Sofia Von Oct 2013
Strangers are my best friends
Even feelings are for even people... Know anyone who matches that description?
I'd like to cuddle away the problems
**** someone while crying
No
I don't think so
I want to be felt and loved. And craved like fluent chocolate gushing
Down the corners of my mouth
Lapped up by your tongue
I wish

Scratched letters over a blank canvas
Make for messages of clarity.
Nails on a chalk board every time you etch, but its the promise of the next word that makes it tolerable.
These pick-up-stick letters are angry and depressed but fit together like bread on butter. creamy song lyrics you scribble but there’s no tune.
An obstacle foreseen and ignored.
The rhythm of voice catches, flame to syncopation, and feebly you grow with your words to become the song

Sung now, in churches
Do they realize from whence their hymns originated? Deep down, long ago, in the valley of hidden emotional pangs
Your envy was too rich for your body
Yet big enough for this... congregational ritual.
Heart tears are beautiful for creation
To existence
They're treacherous

I smile and admire my work
Blow a smoke ring over the wet words not quite solidified on the page
Smudge
Better with a flaw
I don't smoke
Im a social stress smoker
Self diagnosed
Self medicated
So you see I'm an aspiring artist
Although most of my works are ****, I don't really give up.
Its just this part of me I can’t always explain
That happens
They’re my impulse of choice
A painting, a drawing, a poem, a song, dance, all music (save country).
Even little quick thoughts or plans I have are peaceful to record.
It's times like this night where I should really be fast in my REM cycle, dreaming of crazy scenarios to **** up and uncover a truth upon my waking.
But I'm on my notes
Typing away the babble of nonsense thats streaming on demand
Tonight
I'll exit with a line
Or so, I'm not sure
Breathe in the plant, puff out love hits and over expose the motion picture. Each passing present memory is precious to the cycle I don't really want to define.
But I'm in love with its inhabitants I can't get over them
And each day is another episode
But... Is this a sitcom, or a documentary?
These words, are time filled

Cold feet shouldn't be a thing.
K Balachandran Dec 2016
"After mysteries am I, mysterious men too"
together when we slipped away from others
she told me with a grin, evidently hysterical,
it gripped me, for some unknown reason.

"More in to mysteries than anything else"
I gently notified to her  my intentions
"I've never been able to **** a male ****** ever"
She indicated the area of her present  curiosity
but isn't it strange,that she sounded wistful?

If I heard her right,she mentioned repeatedly
about,"The Third Brest,"as if she has a mystery
for me in store.When buried deep around my *******
her teeth transmitted a hunger, and I felt it:
what exactly a mother feels suckling her baby
her heart beat went out of control,I could see
the pangs of child that has never been fed
from her mother's breast, or fondled by her


And the mysterious part of the game
she saved for me was finally unveiled,
                                              my expectant eyes
saw a chest devoid of any kind of swell, except
the memories of the two full ones taken away
mercilessly by decease.I saw blood in her tears.
mila splawska Jul 16
“she slept at his last night”
i can’t deal with the feeling
that fills even
my fingertips with pangs of pain  
fight or flight?

“oh ok”

i choose neither, there’s nothing i can do
Do you have these too?
Infested. I think. ******.

Panged into
something

Pangs haunt
my ***

tomorrow
has its own

pang place
where they lie
in wait

governed by
pangs of
dread

naught ever
pangs
on time

pang pang
you shot me down
pang pang
**** me now

poet with
a head
of steam

panging away
like your heart's
a target

and i found what hurts
you shot me down
what are you
panging
on about?

how has this word
hidden so long
when it its
my state

of pang

pang of the day
panged over you

pang me up against the wall
already
I'm steady on
haltingly
typing while you do
your worst



[email protected] Dennis Willis
Dr zik Mar 2015
Birds ate there all eatables
Flapping there wings as a dance
Trimming and preen of the wings
Jump here there, loosing no chance
                  
Black, blue, brown-their cute colors
Short, long, slim, heavy, light weight
Wings and flight-memorable
All in hurry to have fate

Chirp in low high sound, fresh  mood
They were neat, beautiful smart
Search everywhere-want of food
Giving an end, at the start                  
                            
Each-one looking for some good
Bit sip enough to quench thirst
No one waiting, for its turn
A cute *** bird, find it first
            
While the lyrics touch my soul
Chirp, chirp, chirp was their tweet, song
Making a norm; fresh my mood
Melodious-their sweet song

Ripe fruit there-serve passer-by
There were trees to grant a shade
There was rule-'No Restriction'
Beauty of leaves-not yet fade
                
Pan was waiting to serve all
One sharp sip-hurry to fly
Child fell down-knocked at rock
Help! Help! Shout- innocent cry
                
Sound dangerous, **** of earth
Crackling, falling, housing, wall
Help, no rescue-love or hate
Site was change in front of all
              
No charm, fame, concert at all
There was no work, club or shop
Speech for help was useless try
No search team or rescue dare
            
Winking eyes now-teary one
Nobody could found there a bun
There no signs of living one
No care there, no deal, no done

Birds ate there all eatables
Flapping there wings-as a dance
Trimming and preen of the wings
Jump here there, loosing no chance
                              
Chirp, chirp sad song-low high sound
They were neat, beautiful smart
Search everywhere-want of food
Giving an end, at the start
                            
Each-one looking-for some good
Bit sip enough, quench the thirst
No one waiting, for its turn
Cute bird could not find it first

While the Iyrics, touch my soul
Chirp, chirp, chirp was their  sad song
Making a norm, my sad mood
Melodious, fair sad song

No fruit there for passer-by
No trees there to grant a shade
They were buried, there, somewhere
No green leaves at risk of fade
          
All the owners, slept and pressed
Sound dangerous-lifeless rock
Ruined everywhere-tragic song
Mud, stone, sand all cause of shock

No help, care there, love or hate
There was silence as no play
No pan waiting there at all
Birds could find a broken tray

You reveal it then I know
My pangs are more than a sea
There is link between the two
Soul and a body, You and me
Dr. Zik's poetry
History (Muzzafarabad):
The city was near the epicenter of the 2005 Kashmir earthquake, which had a magnitude of 7.6. The earthquake destroyed 50% of the buildings in the city (including most of the official buildings) and is estimated to have killed up to 80,000 people in the Pakistani-controlled areas of Kashmir. As of 8 October 2005 the Pakistani government's official death toll was 87,350. Some estimates put the death toll over 100,000
zebra Feb 2017
she said
being a feminist
i have forsaken the temples of normalcy
for dark gratifications and base seduction
and discovered that those who know the pleasures
of objectification
and frenzied ****** lucidity with strangers
are wiser then the children of  sweetness and light
as marriage betrays the need to satisfy
secret dark labyrinths desire
and in its place
repeats ad nauseum
blunt fortitudes
in dim sunless rooms
for fear of the transgressive

satans *** nail

is conventions essential creed
exhaustions hand maid
rendered imagine-less
bereft of the new
until a mere stand in
for true desire is left
like a starved ghost
on a dead moon
a desiccated morsel
left for a hungry mouse

is romantic marriage a poetic conception
by love starved victorian imbeciles
vanquished in increments
by petty spats of blood and thunder
who know not the joys of the whips blood toothed kisses
purgation's brutal sensuality
and a creel
of ramming butter **** gang bangs
in secret fetish gardens
of cries and coos
that leave the *** wilted
and the soul lite
like a butterfly in heaven

slave girl asks
as hips sway
to sacred dionysian storms
in the smoldering pangs
of the heart
as backs writhe and arch
flex and sweat rhapsodic
and viscera panic with desire

are not such delicious degradations
pleasures ravage despicable
cause for an ecstatic celebration
kindling
fiery vapors incense
en-flamed dragons blood
for drooling kisses
that talk in tongues
in a language that everyone understands
infinitly preferred
over  the rolling eyes of disapproval
in the tepid marriage bed
Lazhar Bouazzi Jun 2017
A cabin that had once been white
Stood, peeled, on the shore of Carthage.
Looking like a tipsy scarfaced knight-
Eyes shut to Dionysian carnage.
A pack of lost dogs roamed around it,
Their pangs of want they sought to manage.

The lone cabin stood on the wrinkled sand,
Like a young tree on Shott el Jerid's* white pale
Whom the white monster forced to speak with the hand:
“Basta, no stubborn resistance from me will avail.”

The fuming sun displayed his festival of fear
Over dogs who could handle their thirst no more;
While the salt has now made its white task clear:
Gnawing the sapling and gnawing evermore
Till the sole mark on the Shott shall disappear.

Now the poet who has only half-chosen the vision
Half not knowing what to do, tried to listen
To the trickle of his one obstinate cheer
Oozing through the new orange laptop,
He had purchased from a japanese peer.

(c) LazharBouazzi
“*Shott el Jerid” is the largest salt lake in Tunisia and the Sahara desert, with a surface area of 7OOO km2. As far as the poem is concerned it would perhaps be helpful to say that the gigantic dry salt pan has the shape of a wolf.
Bows N' Arrows Aug 2017
City lamps in clusters of concrete
On 18th and Sherman street
The cars pass by scanning me
Each unsound engine roaring
Darting pupils
I feel it on my externals
On my lips and phalanges
Intruding glances cascading over
my silhouette

Deja-vu-like resemblances,
strange
Sunken cheeks look bizarre
and blotchy as the socket drains
something toxic to the veins
that's permeated the future in an instant, like a comet,
encandescent and shimmering like a scale, the awareness fades

Like some dreary mirage
I remember those little band aids
Vintage carnival tickets
discarded on the scratchy ground..
Blue-violet bruises
The paradox of pleasure
A vague creature in
it's discomfort
sitting in defiance and
quivering my sentences

It reminded me of those
incandescent bugs that
smush into Chryslers
With a curled lip, bulging eyes
and ******* up tongue...
Antennaes intertwined like
Twizzlers
Making peace with all
that's stung as the
windshield wipers turn on
Some black tar-smack-oil-
******

My generation consists of
inheriting environmental
destruction and mal-parenting
Global warming. Animal extinction.
Polluting the oceans. Deforestation.
Biting shards off night-time to
suffice for the daily pangs
Shuffling the dregs of karma
to grow roots and vines all about the room

It's not Winter yet
Under this morning dew
I envision it in my mind
A crystal ball vision
contorting into smoke
I caught it in my breath
Catatonically hanging
A turtle with it's legs bending toward the sky
Searching for my tribe and a pulse
on this Earth in sentient souls
Ari Feb 2018
it's awfully hard to stop
an insatiable craving
am i the one you want?
or, lover-boy,
am i just a temporary snack
savored only to quell your hunger pangs?
i know its awfully hard to stop,
but not so hard
that you should forget
that sometimes i get hungry too.
Poetemkin May 2018
When I before the LORD will stand
and fall o'erpowered by glory grand
I know that, yet unworthy, I'll go free

My sin deserves a judgement fierce
my soul with pangs of torment pierce
in death and hell for all eternity

I know my guilt; I am ashamed
'twas by my hand God's Christ was maimed
I am the one led Him to Calvary

I built His cross, I drove the nails
by my spear was His side impaled
and my mouth mocked and jeered His agony

I live my life, day in, day out
my liberty, my freedom flout
as if I am my own authority

Angér and malice, vengeance too
bittérness, lust, to name a few
are fruits that I bear — Ah! too frequently

But on a cross, atonement made
the Son of God in stone tomb laid
then raised again in mighty victory

I am not worthy LORD to share
the triumph, nor to be an heir
of majesty; but say Thou "Come to me?"

Thou art exalted on the throne
all-glorious, lifted up alone
all falling, bowing to Thy sov'reignty

What credit dare I claim to own?
what merit have I ever shown
that Thou wouldst come to bleed and die for me?

O! Praise the Lamb Who paid the debt!
the ransom met, the sinner set
in place of blood-washed, snow-white purity

O! Praise the man who in my stead
was beaten, smitten, slaughtered dead!
This miracle: that God would die for me!

Thou art The Life, The Truth, The Way
Thou art the Everlasting Day
Thou art the Son of blesséd Trinity

Thou art Creator of the world
Thou art expressed though Thy Son: Word
Thou art the Father in the Trinity

Thou art our Comfort, and the Breath
of Life that comes at our sin's death
Thou Holy Spirit — third in Trinity

We cry "Holy, holy, holy!
only Thou art LORD Almighty
Thou Father, Son, and Spirit; Trinity!"


O! LORD my God show my Thy face!
Encompass me with Thy great grace!
"Behold, my child, there is a place by me"

O God I long to hear Thy voice!
I aim to make of Thee my choice!
"Seek my face is my message unto thee"

I did not know — could not foresee —
that by His death I'd be set free
that through His wounds my path to heaven be

He knew the pain, He knew the loss
He knew that shame came with the cross
yet bore the sin His Father would not see

What will it take keep me true
to Thee, the One Who bore me through
in love took on Thee my just penalty?

What can I say? Where can I go?
Which poor souls can I make to know
the gospel of Thy great act of mercý?

I could have been Thy servant sent
unto the world, if I but went
when Thy call came to me with clarity

I cried that I would surely go
if where Your call was I did know
but in Thy Word Thou saidst to all "go ye"

I claimed I'll spend and will be spent
affirmed to serve whate'er it meant —
if only I had spoken truthfully

When I for Thy pure presence cry
I still yet by my life belie
that this request is made in honesty

I walk the race; I beat the air
I wallow deep in my despair
I live in sham of Christianity

Discontent, self-satisfied
I ought to be contrariwise
and grant to myself base ignominy

Without I am not seen profane
in heart I have with many lain
they — innocent — are ravaged lustfully

My eyes my master, I, the slave
feign to resist, then comes the cave-
in to that thing from which I ought to flee

In grief I curse my wicked heart
I hide, afraid to seek new start
ashamed of my great sinful misery

I strive to make the outside clean
within the bones of dead men lean
on white-washed walls of stone-cold vanity

Depravéd I keep under lid
those sins to which men's eyes are hid
confessing not, to liberated be

Just yesterday, lift' up in pride
of holiness (but my heart lied)
I thought was in me; my great piety

The fool! I, ignoble soul
my mind under fleshlý control
why do I not surrender now to Thee?

Surrender true? Surrender not?
Surrenders of the past forgot:
surrender now with freshened fervency

Jehovah — Thou the Holy God
original, uniquely odd
the awesome fullness of all Deity

My God Thou must by Thy hand draw
me to Thy side and I in awe
must simply yield and fall in faith on Thee

My God, the Master, Lord of Peace
My King, the source of all increase
The Faithful One, and my security

The Great and Mighty Holy One
Who sent to us His only Son
The One with Whom I will forever be

In my dark past, a world of shame
Where I — unworthy — wore Thy name
Thou in Thy mercy drew me unto Thee

But still within my wicked heart
Lay sins from which I would not part
The lusts which I have clung to desperately

Thy peace I cannot ever know
When still the seeds of sin I sow
When I yet practice flesh-fruit husbandry

I know Thy Word doth fully show
For Thee to come my sin must go
Thou wilt not stomach my coregency

My body's temple, my heart's throne
But one may have it; one may own
And only I can ever take the knee

Thy sovereignty will bow to none
At our world's end we'll bow as one
I must submit — so why not willingly?
Jesse stillwater Nov 2018
It's telling looking through
the window’s eyes ; 
a room with a paling grey glass view
befogs the clouds reign inside the storm
Often feeling misbegotten regret
for the unfiltered passing glimpses,
whetstone honed and splayed ;
raw hues of a latent life exposed

There's an uncertain hidden shame
in the unheard truth
starving out in the cold;
dwelling in a petrifying silence
of a common hunger
the lonely do ache
  
Merciless hunger pangs
manifest and shake
with an unrelenting bitter taste ;
loneliness grapples and grips
like a silent earth quake
rattling a rib caged heart — writhing
as Autumn bares the trees
  
A jagged ambiguous fault line
ripples through the hollow echo ;
a bolt of lightning caught in a bottle
strikes — silently contained
swallowing the unspoken words
in a greater good

This broken merry-go-round
keeps turning round and round;
the great mandala spinning on
like a worn out hamster-wheel
without a conscious trace
of going anywhere out there

The place you come from
is gone when you leave it —
even if you really never
feel you were from anywhere
but a thousand unmarked mileposts
from out here somewhere adrift;
a pilgrimage towards understanding
why sometimes I don’t know
if I know who I am — or could have been —
waiting on a threadbare prayer

One-day the winds of change
will shapeshift — bye and bye ...

"When the light that's lost within us
reaches the sky"


Jesse Stillwater

November 2018
"When the light that's lost within us reaches the sky"
from:  "Before The Deluge"    written by: Jackson Browne
Everything I once knew has been stilled:

I fathomed my mother’s voice whispering
In my juvenescence,
She weaved a tapestry of tales
Whilst her pearlescent eyes
They glistened,
Enveloped by downy lashes
Ebony and yet unassuming
For
The night domineered.
Unblemished enough to
Garner the praise
In the clarity of
My reverential heart,
As I lay there
Tucked in,
Once peacefully,
Yet now shaken
By
The disquietude
Of the restless twilight,
Upon an azure king-sized mattress
Primped in creaseless Space Jam sheets.


They were set by
The grace of her manicured hands
However slightly,
Chestnut and replete
That longed to,
By the Blessed Oracle
Speaking with a God,
Summon the Salvation
Of my long lost rest
That Raged Leviathan
Where,
To be cocooned in The Sea of Shadows
The thew of dreams would be born.

She sanctified my fears
Like coal oppressed for aeons
By
That Treasured Sphere
(Terraqueous Gaia)
Until by
The Womb of the Mountainous Mother,
Were reborn
As the Children of Diamonds.

Or perhaps
Like a baptismal kiss
That floweth from an ivory chalice
By which
The soil of my life flowered,
For a quaked youth was
Bestowed
With a fading taste
Of the transcendence at dawn
Poured upon my palate
Until
The Garden of the Valiant
Bursted into bloom.
(Tis where the Behemoth lay nestled
Under the Age Old Tree of Life
And Sylphs soar beneath iridescent twilit skies
Illuminated by Providence
Of the Half-Faced Crimson Moon).


If I so chose
I could
Be anything
That
I imagined, even
Today.

Ephemeral though
Those moments were
My reminiscence
Doth memorialize in crystal stasis
My infantile longing,
Tis ceaseless in its yearning
To be comforted
When
Pangs overtake me:

But what fable is my weapon
Now?
The Hallowed Excalibur,
Or perhaps even The Ultima Weapon
With the Impenetrable Aegis
Imparted by
The Mighty Crystal
Bestowing might to its Anointed
The ones who war with their own iniquity,
Until their paths align
Like celestial bodies
And they’ve arisen triumphant,
Eclipsed the fictitious light
Of a false deity
Who besmirched the truths
That upheld The Cosmos
Since its genesis?

There is one tale,
(Lean in, listen closely,
This is my Susurrus in the Night)
Tis no figment
And one I found most favorable,
One of a man
Simple,
Strong,
Stunning,
Sound,
Sapient,
And high over all but
The Desideratum of the Holy,
The one to whom
Even the angels, seraphs, and cherubs bow.

He was scourged
In flesh and spirit
Till his pulse was silenced,
His inestimable blood
Prophesied to vanquish
Chaos and
The Futile Wind
Of life
That by
By the disobedience of
Our
Tarnished Father,
Is now
An accursed child

She
Is effaced by
Time
(For Sorrow has no end)
And
Tormented by Space.
(Height,
Breadth,
And depth,
O that Existential Fabric)
His caverns
Condemned Her
Without
Compassion.

The thought of solitude
Looming in mortality
Were the dreadful horns
Of an Auroch that
Pierced
Her consciousness
Until by
Proud Oppression
Hope
In its frailty
Was a dandelion
Strewn by skinless hands
Against the immaterial
Brush of the breeze.

To flourish then
Wither,
Wax and
Wane;
Never
Was a fate
That our God intended.
For eternity shines and
Is a supernova
In the galaxy of our hearts
And though undiscerned
By many
Has always been
And
Will always be
The Cherished Wish of the Stars,
For though we are an exhalation
By contradistinction,
Even they become nebulous
Fading into dust.

We shall
Become
Exalted and ennobled
Even to these who are
Of the luminaries,
Lowly
Brothers and sisters
Without Ears,
Eyes,
Hearts,
Or minds.

Yes,
(These vibrations resonate from the Cosmo-Plexus of Love)
Soon enough they say,
Soon enough.
Hey guys, this poem is written as a thematic embodiment of a religious-based autobiographical piece I am in the process of assembling (It will be a metaphorical interlude if you will in between two segments of the piece and thus act as a segue). It was written as a free-verse piece. I have not written in about a month which has given me time to reflect and introspectively examine the Universe around me; consequently, I hope that you guys can perceive my metamorphosis in my month long cocooning as a writer. I wanted to encapsulate the whimsicality, fancifulness, and innocence of youth by incorporating myth, imagery, and imagination (almost reminiscent of a fairy-tale whispered to a child before bed, hence the title "A Susurrus in the Night"). I kind of rushed putting this out because I was so eager to share with you guys, so forgive me if it's not as refined as my usual writings. *Since posting I have edited it on this website* I this does not convolute and thus make it less understandable! I have so much to say through this piece! Thank you so much for your support and God bless!
I had almost forgotten,
The lines between the lines,
Details in dreary designs,
Perpetual persistent patterns,
Relentlessly resilient repetitions.

Why would you come now?
To remind, reminisce or read,
Reckless racks of reads.
All- knowing knocking knight,
A random reckoning recites.

What are these questions?
You ask, alter and annoint,
These dreadful death dreams,
And plough out pangs of pain,
Of a wilted and withered world.

Can't  allow this anymore,
Lose this loathful lust of yours,
That belittles my boistrous being,
Paint a pretty picture please,
Let go and leave, one last time.

I live in a different universe,
Of my wonderful whimsical wishes,
Floating  over my fantastic fairy tale,
Never nitpicking the neverending nows,
The happy hopeful and happening hows.
To all those untimely listeners who question your being:)
B Sonia K Jan 4
Transiting through and true
My coming and going has now become my undoing
From one place to the next
Never giving a rest
The constant vibration of my body cells
The resultant energy drain
Hunger pangs like ringing bells
Now a friendly foe.

Time passing by
Dashing out of every corner and place
With tongue covered in dry dust
And arms filled with heat of the weather
To give me a lick and a hug
Oh, what a bother
Jumping from bike
To cars
To busses and train
To a destination unknown
Just a movement with time
With memories worth more than a dime
From one place to the next
Never giving a rest
Come hunger and sun
Come Weakness and rain
With the freezing cold of greying age
Indulging time with its uncaring gaze

I will persist
For all I know is
I am in transit.
You are my
Ensorcelled Elysium,
You are my
Eden Dream.

You cascade
Upon my Dreamscape,
Enshrine my slumber in
A flowered gale of aromatic petals
That envelop me, beckon me
To herald the rebirth
Of Days of Yore.

You vein
The Glistening Glade of Memories
With your
Brooks of Aqueous Emerald.

Tis' the
Phantasmagoric Plane
Where still
My wayworn spirit wanders, wearily
In search of the magic
To enfetter
The Hands of Fate
(For they conspire against us).

Swifter than your descent
Into my soul
(Five seconds still and flat)
By
The nexus of your affections,
You evanesced
Like vapor,
Yet
I shall not concede to
The Malevolent Matriarch of Destiny.

For you
O, Breath of Life,
Forsook me not
So I sublime all stains
Tarnishing my flesh
By cries to The Ethereal.

At midday
Awaiting the Twilight
I long for
The birth of The Womb of Aether’s
Progeny,
Starlit winds.

I muse
Swimmingly in Seas of Reminiscence,
Banished from that Blackened Bastion
Of Shadowed Heavens,
For when darkness shrouds
My dreams can be seen
Draping the skies.

I then fathom,
You must not be far off,
Wishing,
Hoping,
Believing
That perhaps
You too
Wonder upon stars
Longing to find that one
That entwines us anew.

You shall alight,
Upon me once more
As
August Sun’s Nimbus
(If only for a moment)
Is thwarted
By
Ebony Miasma
That drenches Cimmerian skies.

In search
Of Ardor’s Light abiding in
The Sylvan Shrine of Your Numinous Eyes
I plead that
The Crag oppress
The Coals of Tribulation,
Until my anguish is
A Diamond Heart.

The pilgrimage
I must bear,
Must be traveled by
The Adamantine alone.

Where have you gone,
Tree of Life?
Why have you withered,
Yggdrasil?

Do I possess
The Eradia of Souls,
By which you shall
Effloresce?

I would halt the cogs of time,
Relinquish my liberty,
To slumber for eternity
In crystal stasis
By your side.

Even in that crystalline quietude,
I would be eminent,
I would be exalted,
I would be ennobled,
In the knowingness that
Your
Stalwart Heart
Radiates
Just beside me.

I exhale Empyrean Winds
When rapt in reverie,
Yearning to be
Captive to your devotion,
Yours alone.

The Bliss of Your Most Holy Kiss
Would signet me
With the
Bounty of Your Name
Burnishing the skin
On my lips.

Though ephemeral,
Your presence divined,
Your presence
Was my anointing.

To be solaced
By the astral resonance emitted
By your touch
Sent the
Pulse of Nirvana
Surging, rippling,
Like a kaleidoscope tide,
Down my spine

You are
The Waters of Vitality
That floweth from
The Creeks of Eden,

You have been
Poured upon my palate
From the
Goblet of Redemption
That I may drinketh
Of
Supernal immortality.

When once again we meet,
Perhaps the tears you summoned
From my spirit
By your
Stirring caress
Shall have absolved me
Of the pangs
In loving a man
(And man alone).

Perhaps then,
The sentiments
I pine to profess,
Will resound.

A melody
Sung in legato,
A  mellifluous melisma,
Flawlessly delineated
And
Intonation in deiform
Or perhaps,
Flowering fioritura
Lacing airwaves,
By the Empress Coloratura.

Perhaps then, piety
Betwixt you and I,
Will waft the air
And I might then,
Permit my quaking body
To succumb to
You alone.

Until that morn,
I shall be vigilant,
Counting the Dawns,
Counting the Twilights,
Until
I can gaze
Into your forested eyes
If even for but a moment.

For even but a moment
Spent with you,
Will bleed a nostalgia
Across my mind's sky,
Painting clouds crimson with passion,
And
That I shall revere,
And
That shall last
And last
And,
Last… And
Last.

O, it will last,
To Elysian Infinity.


            I am a vestige,
               But I shall live once more,
                  In the light of memories
                       That blossom, are perennial,
                           And imbibe the dazed glory of the past
                       Until the past is vanquished
                 By a future that is fragrant
             With the mist of romance
          And eclipses the simulacrum,
       A fictitious sun of the infernal masquerade,
    The antithesis of the truest holy,
Then, rapture of life shall mystify no longer,
For the Numen of Truth,
  Shall cleanse creation without a drop of façade,
      His Providence shall emancipate the hollow,
             The Death of Dreams shall writhe
               In everlasting abeyance,
                 Absolving our wayward spirits,
                  The Winds of Change,
                  The Scourge of Pain,
               And
          The Loveless Wraiths
        That haunted our husks
      Shall be transcended for aeons,
  And tribulation made distant, made nebulous
As the Genesis of Time and Space itself
  For we embark on an exodus,
     Beseeching salvation to redeem us
        When the Requiem of Iniquity
           Is triumphed by everlasting cadence.

Be Valiant,
                 Be Sapient,
                             Be Love
                                       And
                                          By this
                                                You shall conquer the world
                                                           ∞
Hello my fellow comrades! This piece was originally written as a means of catharsis. I wanted to express the romantic sentiments begotten by an individual who deliquesced from my world as swiftly as they arrived. I hope you guys can glean virtues of humanity, poignancy, candor, and (an organic) transparency in this piece. I want to impress the density of reverence pulsing in my heart for the person who enraptured me by the thew of their tenderness and kindred spirit.

Hopefully the massive length of this piece does not deter from reading its contents. Holistically speaking, the volume of content in this piece is the metaphorical incarnation of the Ocean of Affection that ebbs and flows within my soul (for this individual). I would love to improve, so if you have any constructive feedback you'd like to convey I would be most grateful. Anyhow, I hope that on some level you can connect with the overtones of undying piety in love that deluge this piece. Thank you all for reading and God bless!
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